Cursed
by Princess Emberess of Underland
Summary: Two weeks after moving to Salem, fifteen year old Kate escapes the clutches of her overly-religious, physically abusive parents. But when she stumbles across the Sanderson cottage and she accidentally conjures the witches back to life, will she come to regret leaving home at all? (Still thinking of an official Title)
1. The Woods

The forest seemed to come alive around me, encompassing me in a menagerie of limb-like branches and prickly hedges. The air outside was rather chilly and early into the night my breath became visible. But I could not have any regrets my very life depended on the cover the forest provided me with. It was an unfortunate, but very truthful situation.

Many times during my venture, I stopped to touch my swollen lip. At first it had been very painful and I cared not to poke at it, but when I began to feel the smallest trickle of blood run down my face, I had to start applying pressure. It was agonizing, and I used every bit of my will to hold back tears, but it was something that had to be done.

The period of my life had been spent being forced to follow a religious way of life, for which I was not meant. My parents were strict, and I was forced to abide by harsh rules. For instance, as a blooming girl of fifteen, I was not allowed to attend out-of-school social activities. The only outing I was allowed to take part in regularly when was my parents dragged me to church. My parents kept a tight leash on me, so as to keep me as a renowned Child of God, as my mother often referred to me as. Little did she know that I hated my life, and I often wished that fate would have placed me in another family setting.

For even the smallest indiscretion, I was punished heavily with the use of percussive maintenance. My father expected me to follow the rules he laid, but when it came to my discipline, it had always been my mother who laid hand to me. She never showed any remorse nor any shame for doing so, either.

My bloodied lip had been the result of me simply taking charge and verbally defending myself.

My father worked as a traveling priest for the sect of Christianity we belonged to. Once a town was ready for a new priest, we packed up our lives and moved on to another town. It just so happens that two weeks prior to my running off, we had moved to the absolutely charming little town of Salem, Massachusetts. I adored Salem. From the very first day we moved in, I began to feel a sense of security for the first time in many, many years.

Salem was unlike any other town I lived in. The whole society of Salem doted on the belief of the existence of one thing: Witches. Anything associated with witchcraft- even the slightest mention of it- in my families community, was sought-to by use of physical punishment.

What my parents didn't know was that I enjoyed reading any sort of fantasy material I could manage to stow away from them. I would sit up late at night, and delve into tales of fairies, witches, unicorns, pirates, talking animals and so many more subjects that would be seen otherwise as taboo in the world I was raised in. All the torture of endless bible studies, church services, and being smacked around could be endured simply by my taking cover in some magical world between two hard covers. I had hid my books for years, but today, the day I happened to be running though the forest of the outskirts of Salem, was the day my mother had discovered my stash of readings.

They had interrogated me for a good hour or so. My mother leaning into my personal space, demanding to know why I thought reading works of fantasy was acceptable in the paradise of God.

It was the simple phrase: "Perhaps the world of God was not meant for me," was the cause of my agonizing lip.

Now I fleeing my family. I had no real destination in mind, my motive was to simply get out. Get out of a life that brought me nothing but unhealthy social deprivation, the questioning of my very sanity, and the physical abuse my mother was convinced God asked her to bestow upon me.

I was tired of all of it. I wanted a normal life. To be free amongst my peers, rather than being barred away from the natural world by religion. I was allowed to attend public school, but my peers were so different from me that they didn't dare speak a word to me.

My two weeks in Salem had given just enough time to memorize where things around the town were. With the town being the host site of the horrific Salem Witch Trials of 1692, many of the landmarks were easily distinguished compared to those of a standard American church had decided that Salem needed reassurance from those who are blessed by God that both witchcraft and witches were both evil and did not exist. My mother was so sickened by the teaching of the witch trials that for the first few days she found it hard just to leave the house. When she came around enough to go to the grocery, she always had her bible tucked in her purse, along with a cross and a small bottle of Holy Water.

Our house was located on Conant Ave. in Salem. Everything in the town was witch-themed and it was amusing to watch my mother cringe and mention of thing such as brooms, cauldrons and even Halloween. Roger Conant had been the first puritan to develop Salem way back during the pilgrim age.

The tact I took to escape my parents may have been seen as drastic to those who knew not of my uprising, but I had reached a mental point where I no longer cared. I no longer wanted to be trapped in the clutches of the church, and I wanted to live as freely as any other human being in Salem.

The forest resided across the street from our house, and was so thick that it was impossible to penetrate other than on foot. After my mother had laid hand to my face, wounding my lip and part of my cheek, I had fallen to our kitchen floor, half in shock, half extremely angered. She had towered over me and spat phrases such as "your going to hell," or "God will never forgive you," and even had raised her hand a second time at me. My father had been off at service when this had taken place so he had not a hint. Before my mother could wail me a second time, I had managed to muster up the moxy to kick her feet out from underneath her. She hit the floor hard and had just lay, stunned for quite some time. It was just enough of a time span for me to grab my thin jacket from the coat rack, and bolt from the house as fast as my legs could carry me. I had no intention of turning back.

That was easily at least two hours prior, and now I was deep into the forest, certain that I had miscalculated my direction. I was expecting to exit the forest somewhere near the old Gallows Hill, where they hanged the suspected in 1692. From there I would cross over into the heavier populated section of town, and seek out help from whoever I ran into.

Such was not the case.

I had stumbled across the heart of the forest. The distance between trees started to widen. The moon, a brilliant crescent, ascended high into the sky. A brisk wind kicked up, rocking pine branches in eerie ways. The air soon became so chilly that it began to burn my throat with every breath. I was convinced that I would freeze to death before morning.

Luckily, the further into the heart I ventured, the more hopeful I became.

Roughly five miles deep into the cluster of trees, I started to hear the soft sound of a creek. Hoping with everything inside me, I sped up my gait to cover decent ground. Soon it was so dark I could barely see, so I kept my arms outstretched to feel my way about. My arms led me into a deep cluster of bushes. I cried out when sharp branches sunk into my skin, ripping my clothing, and even scraping my hands until they were bloodied.

To think I endured all this just to escape my mother.

Still I kept pressing forward. I wanted to get to that creek more than anything.

When the sound of flowing water became quite loud, I found myself very distracted. In fact, I was so distracted that when I fought my way through the bushes, I almost toppled over into the creek that was in question. I regained my balance and tried to look out. Through the thick darkness I could make out the span of the creek. It was roughly a third of a mile wide, and it didn't seem that deep. Off in the distance I could hear the water pace quickening. Figuring it was the safest thing to do, I began to trail down the side of the creek, just wishing it would lead me somewhere warm.

I wasn't a firm believer in God, but I truly believed that some higher being had influence of life on planet Earth. Just a couple more miles downstream I found myself thanking whoever or whatever it was that seemed to be watching over me.

Where the creek widened and deepened, there was an old cottage perched on the bank. It had a waterwheel attached to the north side. The contraption looked ancient, yet it was still turning, its cogs and reels creaking. The closer I got, the more I realized the cottage was in decent repair, and didn't truly look that old at all. It looked as if it was a replica of a cottage that had once stood in the same spot.

It would have to do. I was so cold by this point that I half expected my skin to be blue.

I rounded the front of the cottage to stumble upon a small stone plaque, set beside the front footpath. It was much too dark to even bother reading it, so I moved to the door. The rustic cottage door was unbelievably unlocked and completely accessible, yet I highly doubted that anyone actually lived there.

Holding my breath, I entered the cottage. Closing the door behind me, I pressed my back up against it and surveyed the inside. It remained dark, but I could make out the shapes of various objects scattered about the interior. Of many things, cleaning was one of my favorite pastimes and just the strong musty scent screamed that the cottage had not seen a human being in years.

To the left of the door was a large counter-shaped structure. Using my freezing hands, I ran them up and down the surface, wiping through many layers of dust, my fingertips brushing cobwebs. I gasped loudly when my fingers discovered a smooth, rectangular surface.

It was a zippo lighter.

Grinning, I flipped the top, and the cottage began to glow with life.


	2. The Cottage

When the lighter sparked aglow, the light shot outwards, illuminating every corner in the cottage. The golden brilliance that flickered in my hand reached an impressive circumference and touched the edges of many strange, various items that were spread about. I took a few moments to recollect the events of my night thus far, which included calming my nerves and gathering my wits. I surveyed the cottage very closely.

In the smack dab center of the cottage was the biggest pot I had ever seen. Actually, it was a cauldron. A very, very big cauldron. Around the cauldron were stands that held towering candles. There was a chair at the back of the cauldron which had old blankets draped over it. Everything was absolutely plastered with dust and cobwebs. In the very back of the cottage were large bookshelves lined with books, old wooden boxes and even small bottles with quarks.

Everything was just so interesting.

I began to closely examine everything and anything.

In truth the cottage looked like something one would see in a old horror movie. We did not own a television at home, but that couldn't stop me from watching the movies teachers played for us at school. The more I thought about it, the less my life made sense. I was a complete prisoner of God at home, but I was not forced to attend any overly-extensive religious schools. It seemed rather crooked.

I moved around the room, slow-paced closely studying every object that met my eyes. You could say that the cottage heavily intrigued me.

I discovered a set a stairs, indicating that there was at least another floor. Half-smiling, I mounted the creaky stairway. I was unconcerned with any racket I made- by the looks of this place, no one had stayed here in a long, long while. I ascended, holding the lighter close to me. My hands had warmed up significantly, just with the heat from the tiny flame.

The second floor was not nearly as impressive as the first floor had been. Why, the second level was one big room, sectioned off into three alcoves. One-half of the room was dedicated to one alcove, and the other half was split down the middle, making it into two perfectly even alcoves.

The bigger one was off to the left. It contained a huge four-poster bed, which held beautiful blankets crafted of green and of purple. A hefty oak trunk was placed at the foot of the bed. Mounted on the front of the trunk was an immense lock. I gawked at it curiously. The lock was most certainly hand-crafted and very old. What irked me the most was that the lock was designed similar to a single eye. The eye was in a closed position, but the whole aspect of it was so lifelike that I actually expected it to open and start blinking at me.

There was also a small writing desk in the corner, which was piled high with many dusty books.

I moved to inspect the other two alcoves. They may not have been as big as the one across the way, but each one was delicately decorated with items of corresponding colors. The one closest to the staircase was draped in everything red, covers, blankets, pillows. And the other one was an untidy mess of pink and white items.

So people once had inhabited the cottage- and by the looks of things, they had been female.

My parents were probably at home spazzing over the fact I had not yet returned. They probably had the authorities out looking for me, and I could guarantee my mother had not seen me run into the woods. I honestly had no idea what I was to do thus far, but I knew one thing was for sure.

I would stay the night in the cottage.

I set to work making it as comfortable as possible. I began by wiping out the old hearth and starting a fire with pieces of wood I broke off an old stool I found in the corner. Soon I was toasty warm. It got to a point where I even took off my thin jacket and hung it on a nail by the front door.

After warming up for a couple of hours, I began to yawn. I headed up to the second floor, and headed for the hugs green and purple four-poster bed. I stripped all the bed clothes from the mattress- which I discovered was stuffed with straw and looked hand-stitched. I opened one of the second floor windows and began to flap the dust from all the fabrics. The view from the window was absolutely serene. What little moonlight there was reflected off the running water in the creek below. The shadows of trees shook in the wind. But the best part of it all was the silence.

I re-made the best, and dusted off the posters with an old piece of cloth I found. The bed was not perfectly clean, but it was clean enough for me to deal with for one night.

Without hesitation, I climbed into the gigantic bed, and sprawled out my sore legs and soon I was fast asleep.


End file.
